I'm bored.

But that's really not the problem.

Why do I feel guilty? I shouldn't. It's not my fault.

It is my fault.

I'm likeable, as a person? Really?

If that's true, then... I've been an idiot. Everything I've done... all I've ignored...

I wonder if that's why John always got so upset. It never made sense before, but this way it does...

But it's extremely unlikely. The only evidence I have for it is what John says.

I am not good with people or relationships, I am rude and curt, and confused by human behavioural tendencies. I am stubborn and moody and whiny.

Surly, peevish, and sulky.

I know.

This is me.

I am not likeable.

I am not friend material.

I am not normal.

But I am incredibly clever. I know my way around a crime scene like normal people know their friends.

I'm useful. I'm helpful.

When I'm really on fire, I'm the best. They need me, and they know it.

That's what people like.

They like that I'm good at what I do, because it makes their lives easier. I just find it an interesting distraction.

We meet in the middle, there.

They like the work, but not necessarily the one who does it. But many of them do at least try to pretend.

I wish they wouldn't.

I can see the truth in their faces, and read it in the way they deal with me.

I would really prefer honesty, even it's hateful.

They waste everyone's time.

I've figured out exactly how to play my strengths, to build up walls and rules and control to keep the unpleasant humanness contained, and deal with myself.

That's the only way I can keep from being completely and utterly alone.

It's difficult sometimes, but I'm accustomed to it.

That's why I shouldn't be feeling guilty. It's not my fault.

I'm working, here.

...But what if John isn't lying?

"John… do we have any rubber bands?"

John just stood there for a few seconds, knowing he was slack-jawed, and that his brows were furrowed in concern.

Rubber bands.

That meant...

He swallowed. "I... I don't know. Do you need to...?"

"Never-mind. What I need is a distraction, which you've refused me. So yes, I suppose we do need more rubber bands." He gestured at the door. "Don't worry, I'll wait here."

"I'm not leaving you here alone."

"Rubbish."

"You could come with me."

Sherlock waved a hand dismissively. "I have better things to do."

"Then... I suppose we'll have to figure out something else to help instead. Any ideas?"

The detective stared at him skeptically for a moment, and then turned away to flip open John's laptop and begin typing energetically.

"Hey-" John stepped forward, but Sherlock held up a hand to stop him. "That's password protected!"

"Yes, it was."

"'Was...'" John gritted his teeth to hold back a growl of frustration. "That's my laptop. You need to ask me for my permiss-"

"Aha-here we are!" Sherlock wasn't even listening, but his eyes had been scanning quickly over the screen, and now he straightened up. "You said if I found a case I could solve from in here, I could do it. I believe I've found it."

"You twat..." He crossed his arms over his chest and sighed heavily. No use getting cross. "Well, what is it?"

"You remember 'Mr. Anonymous,' don't you?"

John frowned. "Yes... But... Sherlock, you already know that was just something I-"

Sherlock caught his eye and gave him a quiet, pointed look.

'Yes, I know.

I'm perfectly well aware that you wrote it.

I know it's not real.

This is the case I'm choosing.'

He turned back to the laptop as if none of that nonverbal communication had ever happened-as if it truly were just another case.

"I believe I could probably solve this one without even getting up from the sofa... But it might prove to be just a little more challenging and time-consuming than most of my other cases have been. I... won't ask you for any more information from the subject, considering I can probably find out anything I need to know by myself. ...but I might need you once in a while, just as a sounding-board, you know. Although most of them are, not all of your ideas are useless."

"Wow... gee, thanks." John intoned dryly, but he couldn't help but wonder if he was really hearing this.

Was he imagining that double meaning?

Could Sherlock really be considering turning that deductive gaze upon himself?

If he was...

"Oh, but by the way-" Sherlock looked up at him over the laptop screen. "Don't start thinking this means we won't be needing more rubber bands. Because we most certainly will."